


That Which He Desired

by gacrux



Category: Adekan
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual, Praise Kink, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gacrux/pseuds/gacrux
Summary: Haruzumi hated him.





	That Which He Desired

“You keep showing up wherever I go! It's annoying so you really should _stop_.” Haruzumi snapped. His feet were planted but his back was rigid, practically arching back, as far away from Anri as possible. Anri, meanwhile, was smiling serenely and approaching one soft step at a time. He, like Haruzumi, was in full battle attire – because the brazen fool had burst onto the scene of a fight between the Northern army and some regiment of police, totally unnecessarily – and he was showing off, as usual. The leather that crossed his chest was shiny like it had just been polished, his hair freshly cut, new (though nearly identical) glasses sat upon his freckled nose. It was like he was here to rub his superiority in Haruzumi's face.

 

“Isn't it you who's following me? Sneaking into my room while I'm weak, trying to have your way with me...”

 

“That's not how it was!” But, could Anri prove it? If he could, he would have every available resource to incriminate Haruzumi. He would lose his status, his wealth, his title – everything that he had managed to cobble together over the course of his short life would be ruined. And Anri was waving it in front of his face like he was some kind of mutt begging for scraps. Ever since he'd tried to strike a bargain with the fucker he'd done nothing but threaten, intimidate, bother, _torment_ Haruzumi. Every time the met – which was horrifically often – they went through the same routine, over and over, ad nauseum. 

 

“Wasn't it? I clearly remember you disguising yourself, creeping into my room while I couldn't possibly have defended myself, straddling me while I slept. You put your hands around my neck, and I could feel you throbbing through your uniform-”

 

“Shut. _Up!_ ” He slammed a palm over Anri's mouth, eyes wild. This was outrageous. If anything, _Anri_ had been the one doing the harassing. There was no evidence. He couldn't bring this to Shinonome, and he certainly couldn't prove that he was conspiring against him. 

 

Anri twisted his wrist away so hard he thought for a moment it sprained. All the air gusted out of Haruzumi in a carefully quietened gasp, even though his arm throbbed up to his elbow.

 

“I'm curious, how far are you going to go? You can't possibly think you can overthrow Shinonome, rule the Northern troupe peacefully, _and_ keep up your pitifully fake appearances as a noble. You're just like the rest of us, Haruzumi, and you don't deserve to be on the throne any more than Shinonome does, understand?” 

 

“I'm not faking anyth-”

 

“Don't lie to me.” Anri said primly. He hadn't let go of Haruzumi's wrist. “I recognize your type. Low-borns like us all reek the same, but only other low-borns can smell it. You, Haruzumi, _reek_.” 

 

It was hard not to swing his fist right then and there. So Anri knew, and he wouldn't let it go. Like a dog with a fucking bone. Haruzumi scowled, but there was one thing he knew to be true: “That doesn't matter, I can still accomplish my goals.”

 

“No, you can't.” And Anri looked so pleased as Haruzumi went still, hearing the echo of those same words cling to him like barbs from years before. “It has nothing to do with being low-born. You're just no good; you're not a leader, you're not impossibly talented, you're just like every other person striving toward a goal they'll never reach. You should just quit while you still have your life.” 

 

Haruzumi was frozen and Anri was watching, smiling, anticipating his reaction.

 

“Oh?” He uttered. Anri's eyes were the greenest thing in this dump of a city, and he wanted them filled with blood. “Well, that may be true. But at least my brother doesn't despise me.”

 

The words had hardly left his mouth when Anri slammed him back against a nearby wall, eyes shockingly wide, lips curled back. Gone was the tepid, knowing expression he wore like a mask. Here was the wrath of a legend, and Haruzumi wished he could muster up the same fury. All he found in himself now was a frozen mixture of fear and loathing, no anger to be found.

 

“You dare speak ill of my brother in my presence?” Anri's hand went to his throat, pushing so hard Haruzumi choked. The other clenched around the decorative plating of his armour, crushing it. The broken metal bit into his arms, left red streaks on his bare skin. “You _stupid_ boy.” 

 

All Haruzumi could hiss out was a mangled  _let go_ , to which Anri did not comply. He pulled back his hand only to replace it with one of the many leather straps adorning Anri's body, and then he snapped it tight. There was something more cruel in his eyes than there had ever been before, and Haruzumi wasn't sure how afraid he could be. 

 

“You think you're going to get out of this life by getting to the top, don't you.” Anri surmised, a look of disdain crossing his face. “You think power will solve your problems? Get you a highborn wife? Kids? Security?” He scoffed, blonde hair framing his face as he leaned over Haruzumi. “You're looking in the wrong place. That won't work here. The higher you get, the closer to the sun you fly. You want Shinonome dead, but what then? Someone's going to try to kill you, you know. And once you're dead, the cycle will repeat. That's if you can even get that far. Tell me, has Shinonome fucked you yet?”

 

Haruzumi paled.

 

“No, then.” Anri shrugged. He kicked Haruzumi's legs out from under him and they slid to the ground, Anri trapping him against the wall, his body unexpectedly strong. Haruzumi tried to get his legs between them to retaliate but Anri just pinned them down, hardly exerting any strength at all. “Keep struggling and I will dislocate your kneecaps.”

 

“Stop.” Haruzumi bit out, arms crossed between them.

 

Anri slid closer, pressing him back until no space existed between them. His eyes were awfully cold.

 

“I'd be doing you a favour. He might pretend he's satisfied taking your whores, but once they aren't enough to test you, he'll take you to bed instead. And he'll make it hurt the first time. He'll make you bleed and cry and hate yourself.”

 

“Shinonome isn't–he's not like _you_.” And Haruzumi believed that vehemently, with all his heart. Not because he believed there was anything good about that bastard, but because Shinonome had never taken a boy to bed. Ever. 

 

“No?” Anri casually took both of Haruzumi's wrists and forced them apart, pinning them to the wall. “Something you should learn, Haruzumi, is that they are _all_ like me. I learned from them. Not a single one is any different from the others. Shinonome will put you in your place somehow, and if he doesn't do it himself he'll get someone else to. And I guess that might be worse for someone like you.” Anri eyed him from under his lashes, lips curled. 

 

“I can make it easier on you.” Anri continued, running a hand over Haruzumi's corset, picking at the clasps. “Don't you want that? To make it easier?”

 

Haruzumi said nothing, the weight of Anri's words rendering him speechless. He had prepared for many, many things when he set himself up to be Shinonome's sworn brother, but never would he have anticipated what Anri was implying. Not that. Never _that_. The clasps of his corset came undone one by one, Anri's skilled hands parting them with a flick, flick, flick of his wrist. When it slid away, Anri's fingers traced each of Haruzumi's ribs, smoothed over his nipples, and then fell to his shorts. Haruzumi was still faintly stunned, by the revelations about Shinonome and now by Anri's touch. He'd never been touched like this before. He vowed himself chaste until marriage. And yet, Anri's hands pulled his shorts down, sliding one of the zippers down to split them entirely apart. Haruzumi looked up abruptly, remembering: they were in an alley, he was mostly unclothed, and Anri looked hardly concerned about any of this.

 

“This–isn't–” right, proper, decent. The words wouldn't come. Anri looked down at him, over him, eyes scathing. Haruzumi would have felt ashamed, but all he could manage was fear. Anri intimidated him in ways no one else ever had, or probably ever would. There was something about him, something rich with power. Haruzumi had trouble with authority, sometimes. People who could stand over him and make him look up at them. People like Shinonome, people like Anri. Powerful people, in mind, spirit, body. Haruzumi had always been jealous of people like them because he knew he could never be one of them. Oh, he could try, and he might succeed in standing where they once stood, but he would never truly _be_ like them. Some part of him knew that. It was the same part that had him cowering, waiting anxiously, for Anri to do to him whatever he wanted.

 

'The nature of humans is not so different from the nature of dogs,' Shinonome would often say.

 

He hated when that man was even remotely correct about anything.

 

“What were you saying?” Anri prompted. He looked halfway amused. Before Haruzumi could speak a word, Anri shoved his fingers in his mouth so far he thought he'd choke. He did, in fact, gag around them; Anri watched, head titled slightly to the left, like he was seeing something strange. He pulled them away, a thread of spit sticking to Haruzumi's chin. Anri hefted him up against the hard wall so he was half-kneeling, his spit-slick fingers now toying with the idea of pressing up into him. Just the tip of one, and then nothing. Harzumi's thighs trembled. Anri was watching him like a predator. “What were you _saying_ , Haruzumi?”

 

What had he been saying?

 

Voices at the mouth of the alley. He immediately slouched, head bowing until it almost came to rest on Anri's shoulder. Fuck. _Fuck_. How humiliating. If anyone saw him, this, any of it-

 

“Not into voyeurism, hm?” Anri laughed, shoving him back against the wall. Haruzumi's cheeks blazed red, Anri's fingers slid into him and it hurt, but–there was something of approving in Anri's eyes. Haruzumi squeezed his eyes shut to no avail. Anri gave him a shake. “Eyes open.” And open they stayed, because it was an order.

 

“ _Good_.” Anri didn't smile, he bared his teeth. It still felt like he'd done something right. Everything felt warm now, and Anri's fingers rocked into him, and he was still trembling like a leaf. His thighs ached from kneeling, his knees felt raw, back grazed by the rough brick. Anri, still, looked pleased. Not yet satisfied. Haruzumi watched as Anri took himself in hand and pumped once, twice, head tilted back, neck a broad expanse of pale skin, starred with freckles. Faint jealousy sparked in Haruzumi, because it had been _him_ , _he_ had been the prettiest, and then Anri came along and fucked it all up. Haruzumi hated him almost as much as he despised Shinonome.

 

It hurt when Anri pulled Harzumi down onto him. It hurt like nothing else ever had. He grit his teeth and smacked his head back against the brick, thighs barely holding him up. Anri scooted closer still, their chests pressed flush against each other, Haruzumi's half-hardness caught between them. It _hurt_. He wheezed and tried to pull away, tried to twist out of Anri's hands because he felt humiliated and subjugated, but Anri wasn't having it.

 

“Sit.” Anri instructed. Haruzumi hesitated. “ _Sit._ ” A demand. An order. Crystal clear. The only thing Haruzumi had to do. So he did. Gritting his teeth all the way down. Anri practically purred with approval, and Haruzumi flushed again, hands shaking with adrenaline and, suddenly, pleasure. Anri's hand stroked him to hardness, business-like, intense all the same. Haruzumi watched the silhouettes pass the mouth of the alley, a rush of fear spiking through him every time they did. This seemed to amuse Anri, who gave him a bruising bite every time Haruzumi stiffened up. Like he was training him. Like Haruzumi was a dog. The thought made him viciously angry but he was so hot, too hot, he just couldn't bring himself to do anything but seethe.

 

Anri's hands dug into his hips, holding him in place as he moved. That hurt, until it didn't. Haruzumi had to take care of himself, timing his hand with Anri's thrusts, shivering every time Anri's breath ghosted across his shoulder. Teeth scraped his neck, eventually an arm wound around his waist to pull him close, and the other locked in his hair, bowing him back. At this angle, Haruzumi couldn't keep the noises in, and he could feel Anri smirk, or grin, or something against his neck. Each thrust now accompanied by a choked off moan, and his body _ached_ but he was so pulled tight with ecstasy he couldn't bring himself to care. He would, he knew he would, but–he came, shivering, eyes blown wide, staring through half-lidded eyes at Anri as he stilled inside him.

 

Regret still hadn't kicked in. It would. And he would hate it.

 

Anri's face was lightly reddened. The first sign of humanity Haruzumi could say he'd seen from the boy. Haruzumi, meanwhile, felt cold-hot, was sure he looked a mess, hair askew, clothes beyond roughed up. Anri blinked down at him once, slowly, before he pulled away completely. Having not shed many of his own clothes, it took nothing for Anri to adjust himself, stand and nonchalantly stretch. The only sign something happened was the scrapes on his knees, and even those would heal away soon enough.

 

He looked ready to leave. Haruzumi felt the absurd urge to follow like a whelp on a chain. Anri, as though he could read the very thoughts in his mind, turned a smirk on him and leaned down. He grabbed both sides of Haruzumi's face, dug his nails into the back of his head, and kissed him. It wasn't chaste, really, but there was no tongue and no spit. Anri bit hard into his lower lip before he pulled away, giving Haruzumi's head a pat before he trotted away, never looking back because, of course, Anri didn't care.

 

Haruzumi looked down at himself, at the bruises and disheveled appearance of his own body, and cursed.


End file.
